


The Heat

by musiclily88



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Djinn Zayn, M/M, Spy Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:09:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: Prompt: "Harry and Zayn have been hooking up for six months. They've been so focused on keeping their own secrets that they haven't guessed each other's: Zayn is a djinn and Harry's traveling to 'baking conferences' is not a support for his baking career but is a cover for his work as a spy."xx





	The Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rsadelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/gifts).

> HELL YEAH

“We need to talk.”

Harry sighs. “We probably do.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn scratches at his beard, biting at his lower lip.

“What, what? You said we need to talk. I’m agreeing.”

“What do _ you _ want to talk about?”

“What do you?”

“None of your business!”

“Oh my god.” Harry scrapes a hand over his face before carding through his hair. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Wait, what? Are we together? Like, together together?”

“Holy shit,” Harry says on an exhale. “We really do need to talk.” They move to Zayn’s shitty sofa, and Harry pokes at the holes that Zayn’s cats have clawed into it, his other hand playing with the cross necklace around his neck. “Like. Who determines the relationship thing?”

“Um. I think we do?”

“What?”

“That’s the basis of the _ define the relationship _ talk, no?”

“That’s a _ thing?” _

“Oh my god.” Zayn sighs. “I wasn’t gonna tell you that you’re kind of a moron, but you’re kind of a moron.”

“I’m aware of that,” Harry replies, scowling, flipping Zayn the V. “Rude of you to say so.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Harry flips Zayn off again.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re kind of a moron too, though.”

“I am genuinely aware of that,” Zayn says on a laugh.

“What is that you wanted to tell me?” Harry asks, still poking at the holes on Zayn’s couch.

Zayn ducks his head. “I like you, outside of my best interests.”

“Oh my god, do _ not _ Mr. Darcy me right now,” he says, hitting Zayn in the head with a pillow.

:

“Are you cheating on me?”

Harry laughs. “You’re fucking joking with me, right?” He leans down into the sink to clean the dishes, hair falling over his face.

“Where is it you go? Huh? I know you don’t go to _ baking competitions _ only to come back bruised and limping, looking fresh-fucked.”

Harry whips his face sideways. “And where is it you go? Hm Mr. Man of Mystery?”

Zayn shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Harry drops the plate he’s holding, glad it doesn’t break. “I’d be fucking thrilled to know, actually. Would give me a hell of a ride,” he says, grinning hard and mean.

“You’re being weird.” Zayn’s shoulders come up around his ears.

“So are you.”

Zayn nods, once. “I’m a djinn.”

Harry replies, “I’m a spy.”

Then:

_ “You’re a what?” _ they both say.

:

They sit down on the kitchen floor, each nursing a beer.

“I’m not cheating on you,” Harry says.

“Yeah. Kinda got that.” Zayn sighs. “But, like. You’re a spy?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.” Harry shrugs one shoulder, sticking his tongue out. “No one suspects me, do they?”

“I mean. I didn’t.”

Harry smirks, raking one hand through his hair.

“Don’t be too proud, babe. Very few people are spies.”

“And very few people are genies.”

Zayn clicks his teeth. “Fuck off. Djinn. Not the same.”

Harry holds up both hands. “Apologies.”

“Apology not accepted.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“I’m not giving you any wishes, either,” Zayn adds, smirking.

“Well, I’m not killing anyone for you!” Harry replies, yelling.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me!”

:

“So you’re basically a cop,” Zayn states, squinting slightly.

“No.” Harry runs one hand through his hair. “Just like you’re not actually a magician.”

“Bro.”

“I said it was different!” Harry crows. “I was agreeing with you!”

Zayn tips his head to one side.

“Okay, I was trying to agree with you.”

“Uh huh.”

Harry sighs. “I know you’re not a magician.”

Zayn smirks. “You so sure?”

“Yes.” Harry blinks. “Because I can tell you’re being a shit.”

“Caught me.”

“Didn’t say I hated it or anything,” he says, ducking his head down as he bites his lower lip.

“Hm.”

“I do bake, though! I used to be a baker, I worked in a bakery with a woman named Barbara. She’s awesome.”

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“Is Barbara like seventy-five?”

“Oh. Um. Seventy-five if she’s a day. Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your point?” Harry scrunches his brows, pulling at his lower lip.

“I’ve honestly lost the plot at this point,” Zayn concedes, sighing.

“That’s understandable.” He pauses. "Where do we go from here?"

Zayn looks down then back up. “Nando’s?”

:

Harry gets a fourth of a chicken with chips, and Zayn orders a wrap.

“So, like. What are you looking for?”

Zayn narrows his eyes. “Are you honestly fucking asking me to define the relationship in this Nando’s right now?”

Harry snorts slightly.

“What.”

“S’like The Office? Like in Chili’s. I feel god here in this Nando’s.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re not the first person to say that to me, to be fair.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Harry bites his bottom lip, leering. “And yet, here you are.”

“Against my better will.”

“Doubtful.”

:

They walk along the shoreline slowly, Harry snaking his arm around Zayn’s elbow.

“This is weird,” Zayn says.

“Only if you make it weird!”

“Okay, then I’m making it weird!”

“Oh.” Harry pulls his arm out. “I didn’t think it was that weird.”

“No, I—have you killed anyone?”

“No. Have you?”

“Not intentionally.”

“What?!”

Zayn laughs, leaning over to slap at his knee.

Harry narrows his eyes. “Dickhead.”

“You caught me.”

Harry’s eyes brighten. “Like in a lamp? Were you stuck in one for two-hundred years?”

“Now you’re the dickhead.”

Harry smirks. “You caught me.”

:

They walk back to Zayn’s flat, and they’re immediately met with a wet, screaming cat.

“That’s Mags,” Zayn says apologetically, picking up the cat. “She likes to take a dip in the toilet.” He heads to the bathroom, closing the lid on the toilet.

“Uh. Bro. Your ceiling’s leaking.” Harry points up above Zayn’s shower.

“Fuck.”

:

“All right,” Harry says, hefting three shopping bags up as he walks back into the flat. “I have trash bags, duct-tape, cleaning cloths, and paper towels.”

Zayn heaves a sigh from where he’s standing on a step-stool, trying to stem the flow of water into his flat with takeaway napkins.

Harry snorts. “Everything we’d need to get rid of a corpse in the nearest body of water.” He blinks. “Which, might actually be this room soon, come to think of it.”

“Not funny.”

“Kinda funny,” Harry argues, holding the shopping bags behind his back.

“Just give ‘em here, yeah?”

“Why can’t you do this yourself?” Harry asks, leaning down to unpack the shopping. He hands Zayn a roll of paper towels before moving to unwrap some duct-tape.

“Can only fulfill other people’s wishes, innit,” Zayn says, hitting Harry in the head with the paper towels before ripping off one to sop up the water.

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, poking Zayn in the knee. “And you couldn’t have gone to the store without me because?”

“Don’t trust strangers alone in me place.”

Harry heaves a sigh.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Don’t trust pretty boys, more like.”

“Finally!” Harry throws his arms wide, spinning once before curtsying. “You admit you like me.”

“You’re a moron,” Zayn says, frowning.

“Oh, I’m aware.” Harry bites his bottom lip. “I also might be on a watch list, at this point.”

“You might be what now?”

“I think I’ve, like, maybe, bought too much duct tape lately? Not sure.”

:

They patch up the hole in Zayn’s ceiling after three phone calls informing them that his landlord has a repairman coming in two days.

_ “Two days?” _ Harry cries, ripping off duct-tape with his teeth. He hands a piece up to Zayn.

“Look, I don’t make the rules,” Zayn says, sighing, as he tapes a garbage bag to his ceiling.

Harry backs away, shoving the duct tape into his pocket. “Well then. I wish your ceiling was fixed.”

Zayn blinks. “You what now?”

“I wish your ceiling was fixed.”

When Zayn blinks again, it’s fixed.

Because of course it is.

“You’re a moron.”

“I’m aware,” Harry says, picking up a cleaning cloth. “But I get two more wishes, right?”

:

“So, like,” Harry drawls, voice syrupy and slow. They’re walking to the local to meet up with some friends for drinks, the night balmy.

“Yes, Harry, do continue.”

“What’s the weirdest thing anyone’s every wished for?”

“A guy once wished for the ability to perform fellatio on himself.”

Harry’s eyes bug out, a bit like a frog’s. “That’s actually kind of genius.”

“Like you have any problem going out on the pull.”

“I haven’t had many complaints, no.”

Zayn snorts.

“As if you have!”

“Well,” he replies, preening.

“And look, here we are,” Harry crows, yanking Zayn’s arm into the front door of the Dark Sparrow pub. With his other hand, he waves as he spots Liam sitting at a booth, a half-full pint in front of him. “Liam!”

Liam smiles wide, showing his teeth, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Hey, Haz.” He sobers, considering Zayn slowly. “You must be Zayn.”

Zayn turns to Harry, brows raised. “You’ve discussed me?”

“I’m here to vet you,” Liam says, smirking.

“Excuse me, Liam. He is not an animal, and therefore does not need a veterinarian.”

Liam covers his face with both hands as Zayn snorts.

“Proud of that one, actually,” Harry says, biting his bottom lip.

“Bet you are,” Zayn adds, rolling his eyes. “I’ll grab you a pint?” he asks, kissing Harry’s temple before getting an answer. Liam and Harry watch him walk to the bar before Liam turns to look at Harry.

“Don’t.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Liam gulps down more of his drink.

They’re two rounds in before more people arrive. First is Niall, Irish accent thick as he greets Zayn with a clap on the back. He introduces himself to Liam and Harry, offering to buy the next round of pints. Liam heads to the bar with him to help him carry the drinks.

“So, let me guess,” Harry says slowly. “He’s a leprechaun?”

“What? No, he was my uni roommate. Quit feeding into cultural stereotypes, for god’s sake.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Just cuz he’s Irish. I mean, really.”

Harry pales. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. That was really insensitive.”

Zayn snorts. “I’m teasing you.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry considers this. “So, just to be clear—”

“No, he is not a leprechaun.”

“Noted.”

Zayn’s friend Louis arrives at the same time Harry’s friend Ed does.

Harry looks around at their table. “Don’t any of us have, like, female friends?”

Louis looks at him quizzically. “Sure, but might make a weird lad’s night if they came.”

Niall laughs, looking around the pub, eyeing a redhead at the bar. “Don’t speak so soon, mate.”

“Such a slut, this one,” Louis adds, throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulders.

“What can I say. I’m charming.”

“No, you’re not,” Louis and Zayn say in unison.

As they drink, they get more talkative. Niall and Liam get lost in a conversation about rugby once Niall learns that Liam plays professionally and Niall’s a diehard fan. Ed, Louis, and Harry fall into talking about music, as Ed’s a musician, Louis’ an audio engineer, and Harry is a self-proclaimed _ music dork. _ Zayn seems comfortable sitting back, listening and watching.

Periodically, he gives Harry small, private smiles.

They close out the pub and stumble down to the kebab shop. Louis orders the largest order of cheesy chips he can, periodically throwing one at Niall’s head. Liam orders a kebab with chips in, because he claims he’s trying to bulk up. Ed is incredulous about this, claiming it impossible. Harry orders and immediately forgets what he asked for, needing Zayn to poke him when his order is ready.

They walk and eat, Niall peeling off first to head home. Ed and Louis are next. Harry and Zayn walk Liam home, as he’s the drunkest and goofiest.

“Not that anyone could take him in a fight or something,” Zayn muses.

“No, he’s a scrapper,” Harry agrees. “Took up boxing during—”

“When I was being bullied!” Liam yells into the night air, throwing his head back. “Got proper fit, like.”

“Yes, right,” Harry agrees, laughing.

“Before that, Harry here used to defend me.”

“Harry?” Zayn asks, incredulous. “With those noodle arms?”

Liam stops in his tracks, turning quickly to look at Harry. He nearly topples over, and Harry catches him. “He doesn’t know?” Liam shout-whispers.

Harry smiles softly, steadying Liam by throwing his hands around his waist. “He knows, Liam, it’s okay.”

“Good,” Liam sighs, relieved. “Because I like this one.”

“Oh you do?” Zayn murmurs.

“Yeah, Matt was a right arsehole, eh?”

“No more talking!” Harry yells, clapping a hand over Liam’s mouth, watching Zayn double over in laughter. “Liam? Did you just _ lick me?” _

“You hand tastes like garlic sauce, bro.”

:

They drop Liam home and head to Zayn’s, crashing into bed after each sucking down two glasses of water.

They’re only slightly hungover the next morning, and Zayn hands Harry some paracetamol with a side of toast.

“Breakfast in bed! Sweet,” Harry says, scooting over to give Zayn room to sit.

They’re quiet for a bit, munching on toast.

“So, are there any other, like—” Harry waves a hand vaguely in the air. “Other magical types of people in the world?”

“I mean, it stands to reason, but I honestly don’t know. Haven’t done research or anything. No Buffy the Vampire Slayer, me.”

Harry nods solemnly. “That’s probably more my territory, the slaying.”

“Uh. Still haven’t determined if you have, in fact, killed someone.”

“Have you?”

Zayn shrugs.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

:

They’re at Harry’s later that week, Harry packing up a small go-bag for his next mission.

“How’d you get this gig, anyway? Craigs List?”

“Ad in the personals section of the paper, actually,” Harry says primly, zipping his bag. “I was recruited.”

“Why?”

“I—” Harry sighs. “At the time, there wasn’t much holding me back.”

Zayn just blinks for a minute. “And now?”

“And now, I gotta go.” Harry hefts his bag and leaves his room, heading towards the front door of his flat.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“A week, most likely. I’ll text you.” He wraps an arm around Zayn’s neck and kisses him good-bye.

:

This time, Harry’s only gone three days, and he returns with a black eye and a split lip. He drops his stuff just inside the door once Zayn lets him into his flat.

“Christ on a bike. Did you come straight here?”

Harry shakes his head. “Had to debrief first.”

“And they didn’t, what, give you arnica cream for your eye or patch up your lip?” Zayn raises a hand to Harry’s cheek softly.

“It’s clear stitches, Z, come on. I’m fine.” Harry pulls away sharply. “Give me a little credit, I’m not a child.”

“Fine, yeah. I know.” He holds his hands up. “So it—went well? Mission accomplished? Completely classified?”

Harry’s face softens. “Classified.”

Zayn nods, reaching out to grab Harry’s hand. He guides him to sit on the cat-scratched couch, where they both sit.

“And you? Classified too?”

“Not much to tell, really,” Zayn says, furrowing his brows. “Although the three wishes thing is completely false.”

“What!” Harry flails, accidentally smacking Zayn with one hand.

Zayn sighs, picking at a hole in the fabric of the couch. “What do you want to know?”

“Fuck.” Harry flails again. “Are you like—immortal? Do you cross your arms and do a fun hair-flick to grant a wish? Do you live in a bottle or a lamp?”

“Oh my god.” Zayn face-palms. “No, I’m not immortal, but like—I can live longer than a human. And also I hate you for making that reference.”

“What, you don’t wanna wear a cute bra like Barbara Eden?”

“Have—have you been looking up bad pop-culture references about genies just to torture me?”

“Maybe.”

“Genie is an Anglicized version, H, I told you that. Not the same thing.” Before Harry can say anything else, Zayn stops him. “The bottle-slash-lamp thing is a myth, too.”

“Djinns are myths, Z,” Harry points out.

“Well, there’s also this idea that we’re either all-good or all-bad.”

“Can you be neutral?”

“Can people be neutral?” Zayn purses his lips. “We balance, just like anyone else. It’s not really that complicated.”

“But you _ can _ grant wishes.”

“Well, yeah. You already saw that.”

“What else can you do?”

“Um.” Zayn bites the inside of his cheek. “Some can, like, shapeshift?”

Harry’s eyes bug out. “So you made yourself a stupidly gorgeous guy, rude.”

Zayn ignores this. “There are also myths about djinns, like, sneaking into people’s houses at night and taking things. But we can’t do it if something is locked or tied up, or anything.”

“Is that why you always wear slip-on Vans?” Harry asks, smirking. “Because you never learned to untie your shoelaces as a kid?”

“Fuck off.”

Harry laughs.

:

Over the weekend, Zayn’s mum and older sister Doniya come to visit. Zayn encourages Harry to meet them.

“You face ridiculous and terrifying shite every day at your job, and you’re afraid of _ my mum?” _

Harry pouts. “Mums are important.”

Zayn sighs. “She’ll love you.”

His face immediately brightens. “Really?”

“Slow your roll there, innit. It’s not that you’re super charming, it’s that she’s really easy to impress.”

“Rude.”

Zayn throws his head back and laughs. After he calms down, he heaves a sigh. “Look, it’s one dinner and then you can tap out. We’re spending most of the day shopping, and knowing Doni and ammi, they’ll be exhausted from that.”

“You’re one to talk. I’ve seen your closet, you clearly shop just as hard as they do.”

“Yeah, I never denied that I—”

“Or should I say, I’ve seen the floor of your room which is entirely covered in designer clothes.”

“Bro, if you want to borrow the Gucci jacket, just say so. Don’t fume at me.”

“I’m not fuming!”

Zayn blinks. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m always cute.”

Rather than responding, Zayn gently swats Harry upside the head.

:

They get dinner at a small Italian restaurant that Harry suspects is family-owned. The staff lets them linger over aperitifs longer than Harry’s experienced at any other restaurant.

Some of that might be due to the fact that the Malik family as a whole is very, very charming.

Trisha (Zayn’s mum, and she insists that Harry call her by her first name) has a bright smile that rivals Zayn’s, and their server flirts with her shamelessly. Doniya rolls her eyes each time he does it, but she giggles when Harry shoots her a panicked glance.

“It’s fine, mate,” she says, and Harry could swear he doesn’t see her lips move.

:

The hotel they’re staying at is close to Harry’s flat, so they walk him home, Doniya’s arm slung through her mum’s while Zayn has his arm thrown over Harry’s shoulders.

“I’m gonna stay with them tonight, yeah?” Zayn murmurs.

“Yeah, course. Like a sleepover!” Harry agrees, nodding solemnly, pursing his lips out.

“Can I tuck you in?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

Zayn sighs. “You’re such an easy mark.”

Harry gives him a lazy smile and pinches his cheek.

:

While Doniya’s showering, Zayn’s mum sits at the vanity of the hotel suite to take off her makeup. Zayn collapses onto the pull-out, knowing that his mum and sister are going to take the double beds. He kicks off his shoes with difficulty.

“Jaan?” his mother asks after a moment.

Zayn swallows, his eyelids feeling heavy. “Yeah?” he slurs, shucking off his jeans. He throws them to the side before getting under the coverlet.

She exhales softly. “Never mind, love. Talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

:

“It’s tomorrow!” Doniya yells, slapping Zayn in the face with a wet flannel before darting away.

“Die.” He yanks the blankets up so they cover his head.

“D, be nice to your brother,” their mother admonishes.

“He’s the one bollocking everything up, not me,” she says.

“Fuck off.”

“Z, be nice to your sister,” their mother adds.

“I’m not ever bollocking anything up,” Zayn denies, kicking off the blankets. Doniya shoots him a pitying glance before hitting in the face with the wet flannel again.

He catches it and whips it back at her, hitting her square in the nose.

“Enough!” Trisha doesn’t even have to yell for Zayn and Doniya to freeze. “Jaan, we have a breakfast reservation in an hour.” She claps her hands before heading to the other room.

Doniya snorts. “And we all know how long it takes you to do your hair.”

“I’ll clear up your hangover if you clear up mine,” he offers.

“What makes you think I have a hangover?”

Zayn blinks.

“Fine.”

:

“What’s this all about, then?” Zayn asks as he bites into a piece of toast. He’s grateful for the full glass of water beside his plate, because even though Doniya magicked away his hangover, he still feels sick.

His mum and Doni exchange glances.

“Seriously, what?” His stomach goes sour.

“You, uh, well, jaan,” his mother begins, tipping her head to one side. “You know we’ve discussed that entanglements can be dangerous.”

Zayn blinks. “Right.”

“So it follows that we all need to be careful. Especially of romantic entanglements. It’s just plain dangerous, is what it is.”

He clenches his jaw, his mouth going dry.

“We like Harry, we really do, but he’s a human and that’s—”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Zayn says, “over breakfast in a café with two people who haven’t ever visited me since I moved to this city.”

Doniya’s eyes go wide.

“Jaan—”

“Lived here four years, and you only visit once I show interest in a human? Really? ‘S a two-hour train ride.” Zayn’s brows go low, and he gives a sad smile. “I come home for every holiday, don’t I?”

“Z,” Doniya begins, but Zayn cuts her off.

“Don’t appreciate you ganging up on me, Doni.” He inhales and exhales slowly. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“So explain it,” Trisha implores, reaching across the table to put her hand over Zayn’s. He allows it for a moment.

“I—no. I need time to think on it, and I—can’t.” He jerks his hand away, eyes prickling with tears. He heads towards the door, swallowing hard.

“Zayn!” Doniya calls, and he hopes she’s not following him.

As he exits the café, everything goes black.

:

Harry wakes to a call from McNamara. He tries not to sound groggy as he answers it. “’ello?”

“Lovely,” she says, and Harry can hear her rolling her eyes over the line.

“Morning to you too.”

“We need you in the office in two hours.”

“Can do.”

:

Harry gapes at the screen before biting his lower lip. “This is—”

“Yes, this is a live feed.” McNamara crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fuck.” He leans in, both hands on the metal desk. “Is he—”

“He’s safe, yes. They want _ you.” _

Harry narrows his eyes. “I’d like to finish a sentence at some point, but, fine.”

“You think that’s your job? Finishing sentences? No, Agent, your job is rescuing important people no matter the cost.”

_ He’s important to me, and I’ll do anything no matter the cost. _

“This discussion isn’t over.”

“I am well aware,” McNamara responds, with a heavy sigh. “But you’re not going in hell-bent and reckless, and especially not without back-up.”

:

Harry’s tetchy, anxious and biting his fingernails from where he’s sitting, feet propped up on the desk in front of him. He’s breaking like four protocol, but he’s five minutes away from storming out of the building if he doesn’t hear more news.

The door opens.

“Niall?” Harry asks, jaw dropping as he slides his feet off the desk.

“Weyhey, mate!” He claps Harry on the back, grinning.

“You’re—what? Here?”

“In the flesh!”

“Why?”

“I’m your back up!”

“How?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“I don’t know.”

“You know how Sherlock is a consulting detective?”

“Right.”

“And, like, in Killing Eve—do you watch that show? It’s brilliant—Eve works at MI5 and like, teams up with that assassin?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Right, it’s like that.”

Harry stands up. “Are you—are you saying you’re an assassin?”

“Kind of!”

Harry smothers his face in his hands. “This day has been all kinds of fucked-up.”

“Only gonna get fuckier, let me tell you.”

:

They sit down together and strategise, because Niall inexplicably has a digital map of the place where Zayn’s being held.

“I feel like asking questions would simply lead to me wanting to ask more questions.”

“Most likely,” Niall agrees, pointing to a spot on the screen. “Alright, so looking at the feed, it seems like he’s being held in this room, yeah, which won’t be hard to break into. That’s a given, because they’re really just using him as bait to get to you. Hell, door might even be unlocked at this rate.”

“Unhelpful, Ni.”

“So it’s more a matter of what we do once we’re there. We don’t want to get ambushed, but this place is basically open floor-plan, right? Which, I hate modern architecture. Give me a wall to put a goddamn pastoral painting on, right?”

“Niall!”

Niall sighs. “H, relax. They’re absolutely not going to do anything to him.”

“Oh.”

“Which is what worries me, because it means you’re their target.”

“Oh!”

“Please stop sounding excited.”

“But I like a challenge.”

“Yes, obviously, because you wouldn’t be dating Zayn otherwise,” Niall points out, pursing his lips.

“I—no, that’s fair.”

“Right.” Niall cracks his knuckles, one by one. “Let’s do this.”

:

They don’t so much sneak in, really, because they’ve been invited to the world’s shit-est captive hideout. It’s a bare-bones warehouse with two side rooms, and there’s absolutely no security.

Harry yanks the door open, immediately groaning. “Goddamn it, Matt!”

“Wait, Matt? Matt, like the guy you dated?” Niall mutters, curling his hand around Harry’s shoulder protectively. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t know!” Harry hisses, smacking away Niall’s hand.

“Fine.”

“Harry!” Matt calls from across the room. “So kind of you to attend.”

“Goddamn it, Matt, of course I was going to come. You lured me here.”

“Lured, well, that’s a strong word.”

Harry throws his hands into the air. “Fine, then what would you call it, while we’re playing this game?” He and Niall walk closer to the center of the main room, which is spot-lit with stereotypical hanging bulbs, completely bare.

“Enticed you?”

“You’re not that interesting.” Harry shoots him a sarcastic smile before darting a glance to Zayn, who’s tied to a chair.

“Fuck you.”

Harry snorts. “You wish.” He tips his chin up at Zayn, asking without words if he’s okay. Zayn responds in kind.

Matt sighs. “This could have gone easily, but you had to make it difficult.”

“You’ve met me, right? Is anything about me easy?”

“No,” Zayn and Niall say in unison.

“Shut up!” Matt cries, pulling a handgun from his back pocket.

“Not again,” Zayn groans, tipping back in the chair. “This is getting old.”

“What are you even doing, Matt?” Harry asks.

“Besides holding your boyfriend hostage?”

“Yes, besides that.”

“Getting your attention.”

“Mate, there are easier ways to do that than kidnapping someone,” Niall points out.

“Shut up! I want power, I want everything!” Matt yells, waving the gun in the air.

Harry sighs. “Z, can you do something about this?”

“I told you, we can’t undo knots.”

Harry purses his lips, raising his brows.

“Fine.” Zayn sighs, and the entire magazine falls clean out of Matt’s gun.

Niall bum-rushes Matt as Harry hurries to untie Zayn.

“You okay?”

“I’m not entirely in distress, and yes, I could have handled this. His fragile masculinity was breaking even before you got here,” Zayn says, rubbing at the rope-marks on his wrists. “You did win the breakup, though, not gonna lie.”

They both turn to look at Niall, who’s straddling Matt and pinning his arms on the floor. “What’d you even want?” Niall asks, shaking his head. “You can’t make someone love you, you know.”

Matt sneers. “Who said I wanted him to love me? Maybe I just wanted to hurt what he loved.”

Harry clambers to his feet, sighing. “It’s not worth it.”

Niall flips Matt onto his stomach so he can zip-tie his hands behind his back. “It definitely isn’t. What a piece of piss.”

Zayn sits up, blinking. “Niall, are you a sleeper cell?”

“Kind of!” he says with a cheery tone, yanking Matt onto his feet, moving the group towards the waiting police car.

“Is this a fever dream?” Zayn asks, legs splayed out on the ground.

“I honestly have no idea. Please stop asking questions,” Harry says, collapsing beside Zayn.

:

Eventually, the police and camera crews arrive, and Niall handles that, because he seems to have media training in addition to every other surprising thing about him.

“Do you actually know Niall, or is he fictional?” Harry asks, levering himself up into a seated position.

“Yes.” Zayn rolls over onto his stomach, one eye open and trained on Harry.

“What?”

“To both. Yes.”

“So—”

“No, he’s still not a leprechaun.”

“I didn’t think he was!”

Zayn sighs. “You’re a terrible liar.”

_ “You’re _ a terrible liar.”

“He’s not a hitman or anything, but he gets shite done, okay? He calls himself the _ cleaning crew.” _

“That’s kind of macabre.”

“You’re literally a spy,” Zayn points out.

“Haven’t killed anyone though, have I?”

“Wouldn’t know. You haven’t told me.” Zayn arches a brow, moving his arms to pillow beneath his head.

“Haven’t killed anyone.”

“Haven’t killed anyone.”

“Good.”

“Good!”

:

“How is it that Niall is the hero in this situation?” Harry murmurs, turning to Zayn in the bullpen area of the police department, where they’re eventually expected to give statements. “And why am I even here? I’m MI6, this shouldn’t be part of my protocol.”

Zayn scoffs. “As if you make the rules.”

“Rude!”

“I don’t make them either!”

Harry sighs. “Niall did catch him, I guess.”

“And he was trying to kill me.”

“Nah, he wasn’t gonna kill you. He just wanted to bed me again,” Harry says, smirking.

“I hate you.”

Harry snakes an arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “Oh, babe. I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave notes and comments!!!!  
xx


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